


When It All Falls Apart (It Really Falls Apart)

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (like three people will understand that tag but I stand by it), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Betcha can guess why there is that major character death tag, Blood, Car Accidents, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gavin and Tina Are BFFs, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/ Minimal Comfort, Major Character Injury, Maximum Toast, Wakes & Funerals, no beta we die like men, this is going to hurt you as much as it hurt me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Hank and Gavin were close once.That was before-





	When It All Falls Apart (It Really Falls Apart)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be around 5000 words. ... I'm terrible at judging how much writing a story will actually take.

Three sharp raps on the door caught Hank’s attention. As did the immediate pitter-patter of little feet racing down the hardwood floors of the hallway. “Door, I open door!” Cole said, Hank stepped out of the kitchen, caught the racing three year old around the middle and picked him up. “Door, Daddy!”  
  
“I know, and what did I say about answering the door?”  
  
The child didn’t listen, wiggling around in his grip, too excited. “Door!”  
  
“Don’t answer the door without me,” Hank said, as if Cole were actually bothering to listen. He pulled open the door. For most people, seeing an officer in uniform at their door was bad news. For Hank though, it was pretty run of the mill. Especially this officer.  
  
“Gavy!” Cole leaned heavily against Hank’s hands. “Gavy! Gavy!”  
  
“Hey, buddy!” Gavin grabbed him under the arms, and swung him into his arms instead.  
  
“Come on in, dinner’s nearly done,” Hank said, moving out of the way.  
  
On Gavin’s hip, Cole was content to stay. Hank might of been offended if Gavin hadn’t been such a big help when his wife had up and left him for someone ten years younger. At first she’d been helpful with Cole, now the kid was lucky to get a birthday card. If Hank got called in on a homicide, Gavin was his first call. Sometimes the officer was already working, but when he was available, he never seemed to mind.  
  
“I’m building a castle!” Cole declared.  
  
“Is it a big castle?” Gavin asked, toeing his shoes off.  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Is there a dragon?”  
  
Cole grabbed Gavin’s face with both hands. “No.”  
  
“What kind of castle doesn’t have a dragon?”  
  
“It has a cow!”  
  
“Ah, very good,” Gavin replied. “I’m sure your castle is well defended by that cow.”  
  
Hank turned to see Gavin trying to set Cole down only to have Cole wrap his arms around Gavin’s neck. “Cole, let Gavin go.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Gavin said, only needing the one arm to support the kid as he came into the kitchen. “You need help with anything?”  
  
“It’s mac and cheese, I think I’ve got it.”  
  
“Don’t you need to be heading out?” Gavin asked. “I can handle it, you know.”  
  
Ben was already at the scene. He really did need to be getting there as soon as possible. “You sure?”  
  
“I once handled this child’s exploding diaper. I think I can finishing off mac and cheese.”  
  
That was fair. Never once had Hank been more thankful for Fowler pushing him to mentor some of the younger officers. It brought Gavin into his life, and into Cole’s. Having someone he could trust with his son was priceless. “Alright, thank you.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I do it for the free food.”  
  
That was another thing. Gavin refused to take money, not even the nights Hank desperately needed someone to watch Cole when he had a two am homicide. Gavin would just show up in his pajamas, and conk right out on the couch. He would demand breakfast though. It was an unfair trade, but Gavin was unrelenting in his stand.  
  
“Cole, be good for Gavin.”  
  
“We’re going to protect the castle!”  
  
“Okay,” Hank said, ruffling his sons hair before kissing his temple. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, Daddy!”  
  
::  
  
Hank eventually felt like he understood Gavin. The man didn’t talk much about his past, but Hank once mentioned Mother’s Day (because Cole had been asking since all the kids in school were making crafts for their mom, but he hadn’t even received a birthday card that year,) and Gavin mentioned his was dead. Tentatively, Hank asked about his father, also dead. Hank didn’t ask more questions, but got the feeling Gavin hadn’t had much in the way of family for a long time, and maybe that familiar sense was what Gavin got out of the whole thing.  
  
Sometimes he’d come home and find that Cole and Gavin were playing with the wooden blocks, making castles, or little villages. Sometimes they’d be outback kicking a ball around. Sometimes he’d get home exceptionally late to find the two of them pretending to sleep on the couch, but Gavin would do a horrible fake snore, and Cole would shake with barely contained laughter. Hank invited him over for Christmas, had him sleep over too. Cole was almost as excited about Gavin being there as he was his own gifts.  
  
Occasionally, Gavin would text to see if they were busy before coming over. Once, on his birthday, Hank had been banished from his own kitchen, and Gavin had Cole up on a chair as they made the ugliest cake. Tasted fantastic though. Still had no idea how they managed to get frosting on the ceiling. It made sense to have Gavin at Cole’s first t-ball game, and it was odd when he couldn’t be there over Thanksgiving because he was working.  
  
“Look, Dad!” his six-year old slid into the room on socked feet and held up a monstrosity of a card full of construction paper cut-outs, dinosaur stickers, and glitter. So much glitter. Where the actual fuck had his son found all that glitter? Seriously? He was cleaning out Cole’s craft station ASAP. “It’s a birthday card for Gav!”  
  
“It looks fantastic,” he lied with a smile. It’s what parents do.  
  
And of course, it made sense for them to spend time with Gavin for his birthday too.  
  
“Can we go visit?”  
  
“Gavin’s is on nights all this week, kiddo,” Hank said. He’d found out earlier in the week when he’d called around noon and been greeted with, ‘someone better be dead, or you will be.’ After that, he checked the officer’s hours, and made sure not to call when Gavin would be sleeping. Cole’s shoulders dropped, and the pout was out full force. “Tell you what, we’ll plan something special, and since it won’t be on Gavin’s real birthday he won’t be expecting it!”  
  
Cole’s entire face lit up. “A surprise!”  
  
Hank grinned. “Yep, can you keep it a secret?”  
  
Cole mimed zipping his lips.  
  
::  
  
They’d gone five-pin bowling at a family friendly restaurant. Gavin was hilariously terrible at it, and Cole was sagely trying to give him pointers. They’d ordered a bunch of easily shared foods, and made a feast of it. Hank had desert ordered and the waitstaff sang happy birthday, much to Cole’s joy and Gavin’s embarrassment.  
  
“Make a wish!” Cole said.  
  
Gavin smirked, and blew out the one candle.  
  
The three of them ate cake, and Hank regretted getting Cole a full slice on his own. All that sugar, he knew he’d have a hard time getting him to go to sleep. Cole shoveled another bite of cake into his mouth, and tried to speak around it.  
  
“Chew and swallow, you know you don’t talk with your mouth full,” Hank said, pointing his fork at the kid.  
  
It took a bit but the kid finally got the big piece of cake down. “Can we give Gavin his present now?”  
  
“Let him finish his cake first!” Hank said.  
  
“But it’s so cool!”  
  
“I thought you were going to let it be a surprise?”  
  
“What is it?” Gavin asked Cole in a mock whisper.  
  
“Something cool.”  
  
“Alright,” Gavin stabbed his cake. “Keep your secrets.”  
  
By the time they actually finished eating their cake, Cole was bouncing in his seat.  
  
“Here, Christ, give it to him.” Hank said, picking up the bag from the chair beside him and passing it to Cole who immediately thrust it against Gavin’s arm.  
  
“Open it, open it, open it!” Cole chanted.  
  
“He picked it out,” Hank said, as a warning. It wasn’t anything special, especially not after all Gavin did for them, but he thought it would be appreciated anyway.  
  
Gavin gave the bag a shake, and then looked puzzled by the rattling sound inside. “What the-”  
  
“Open it!” Cole nearly shrieked.  
  
“Shh,” Gavin said, looking around at some of the people staring. “Inside voice.”  
  
“Open it!” Cole said in his loudest whisper.  
  
Gavin pulled out some tissue paper, then the card- red and gold glitter falling onto his navy blue shirt, and black jeans. “Very cool card, thanks, Cole,” Gavin managed to sound sincere even while glaring at the glitter on his shirt. He then pulled out Star Wars Lego set. “The Millennium Falcon!” Gavin’s face lit up. They’d watched the original trilogy a few weeks back, and it had been the first watch for both Cole and Gavin. Gavin checked the back, then the front, then turned to Cole. “Are you going to help me build it?”  
  
“Yeah!” Cole said, excitedly wiggling in his seat. “It’s so cool, look! It comes with Chewy!”  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
Hank paid for their meals. Gavin helped Cole with the zipper on his jacket. “It’s not that cold,” Cole said as Gavin pulled it all the way up to his chin.  
  
“Fine,” Gavin pulled it down a little. “Better?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Okay.” Cole grabbed Hank’s hand as they walked out, but bridged the two men by grabbing Gavin’s once they were outside. “Swing!” he demanded.  
  
“You’re too big,” Hank said.  
  
“Your dad is too weak,” Gavin said.  
  
“Listen you little-” Hank bit his tongue but glared at Gavin over Cole’s head.  
  
Gavin laughed. Cole went with Gavin to one side of the vehicle, Gavin supervising until Cole was buckled in. “Feet and fingers,” Gavin warned before closing the door. He got in the passengers side, and buckled up.  
  
“Ready?” Hank asked, putting the car in reverse.  
  
“Dad. Music.”  
  
“Oh no, my birthday, my music,” Gavin argued taking over the radio.  
  
“It’s not technically your birthday,” Hank muttered, grimacing as Gavin put it on a safe top 40 channel.  
  
“It is technically my birthday party,” Gavin argued.  
  
They pulled out onto the street. Hank happily listened to the two, Cole roasting Gavin’s poor bowling skills, and Gavin trying to defend himself. He wondered if this was what it was like to have two sons. He’d always wanted three kids, but when his wife had tapped out after one, he figured that ship had sailed. But he had Cole. And in a way, he had Gavin too.  
  
“Gavy?” Cole said.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Do you think we can build the Falcon all in one night?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “It’s got a lot of pieces. Probably not.”  
  
“So, you’ll come visit soon? You didn’t visit all week.”  
  
“Cole,” Hank admonished lowly.  
  
Gavin flipped the visor down, not that he needed it, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful colours. But Hank noticed he was using it to look at Cole in the back seat. “Sorry, bud. I had to work a lot at night, so I had to sleep a lot during the day.”  
  
“Like a bat?”  
  
“Yeah, kind of like a bat.”  
  
“Does that make you Batman?”  
  
“I wish!” Gavin said. “I’ll come over tomorrow, how about that? I’m not worki-”  
  
The crash was deafening.  
  
Then there was the sudden pain, and the spinning.  
  
The jarring stand still as the car settled back onto it’s wheels.  
  
Shattered glass on the dash reflected the sunset.  
  
It should have been beautiful.  
  
_Cole_. If there had been anything wrong with Hank’s spine, that would have been the end of it. He unclipped his belt and turned so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Cole!” The car hit the passengers side, and the door was dented inward. Cole was limp in his seat, the belt holding him upright. “Cole!” The voice that left his lips was not his own, it was pitched, desperate and terrified. He was halfway between the seats before he even thought of using the door. “Cole, Cole!” The gash on the side of his head bled heavily. “Oh God.”  
  
Someone tried to open the door next Cole. It was too mangled and they went around. The door beside Hank opened. A stranger. “I saw the accident,” he said. “I called 911.”  
  
Thank God. Hank couldn’t think clearly. He’d hit his head on something during the roll-over.  
  
“Is he okay?” the words were slurred heavily, but the voice was familiar, and Hank risked taking his eyes off his son for just a moment.  
  
Gavin’s face was a bloody mess. The gash up in his hairline, and across his nose seemed to be the worst of it, but there were glass shards embedded in his skin. Hank wondered for half a second if his face is anything like that, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, nothing but Cole. He couldn’t respond to Gavin. He didn’t didn’t have an answer either of them would like hearing.  
  
Cole’s finger twitched in his hand. One eye opened. “Daddy?”  
  
“I’m here, Cole, I’m here,” Hank replied.  
  
“Hurts.”  
  
“I know, there is an ambulance on the way, okay. They’re going to take you to the hospital and fix you up, okay?”  
  
“It hurts!” Cole cried, trembling.  
  
“I know, I’m here. I love you.”  
  
“I’m scared.”  
  
“I’m right here.” Hank dared hold his son’s hand a little tighter. He could hear the ambulance coming. “Hear that. They’re going to take you to the doctor and fix you right up.”  
  
“Gavy?”  
  
“He’s here,” Hank turned to see the stranger in the drivers side, checking Gavin.  
  
The stranger looked over, wide eyed, bloody hands. “He’s unconscious,” the man said.  
  
“Gavy?” Cole’s voice sharpened with the influx of fear.  
  
“He’s resting before the ambulance ride,” Hank said managing just barely to keep his voice even. “Gavin is going to be fine,” he lied. He had no way of knowing how Gavin was doing. He hadn’t bothered to check. His only thought had been for his little boy in the back seat.  
  
A paramedic appeared at his side. “Sir, I need you to come out this side. We’ll have you looked after.”  
  
Hank knew the door to Cole’s side was compromised, but Cole’s hand tightened. “Dad, no, please! Don’t leave me, I’m scared.”  
  
“The paramedic is going to help you, okay?” Hank fought back tears, but knew the best way to help Cole was to let the trained professional in. “I need you to be brave.” Cole’s lip quivered as Hank quickly moved so the paramedic could work.  
  
The stranger was also out of the vehicle, another paramedic leaning over the drivers side to check Gavin. “Sir, you need to come with me,” a third said.  
  
“I’m not leaving my sons.”  
  
::  
  
There were three ambulances, but there was no way Hank was leaving Cole, who’d slipped unconscious again by the time they’d removed him from the vehicle. He held his son’s limp hand while the paramedic’s worked, and the ambulance screamed down the street. Hank couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t him. Why his little boy? His thumb rubbed over the little bumps of Cole’s knuckles.  
  
The paramedic on the radio sounded angry enough for Hank to finally pay attention. “Just find someone then!” The medic released the button on the radio, cursed low. His partner had her full attention on Cole.  
  
“Blood pressure is dropping,” she said, calm as could be, but Hank could see the focus in her eyes.  
  
“Almost there,” the other medic said. Hank didn’t understand what they were doing. It wasn’t his job. He just held Cole’s little hand, and prayed to a God he long hadn’t believed in.  
  
They rushed Cole into the hospital and away from him. A doctor still had a hand on his arm, holding him back from following. “Sir. I need you to get looked at too.”  
  
“No, you need to look after my son.”  
  
“He’s being taken care of,” the doctor said, slow and steady. “You need to sit down.”  
  
“My son.”  
  
“I know, sir.”  
  
“Get yourself looked after, Hank.”  
  
Hank turned to see his old friend, and boss. “Jeff. Cole-” He couldn’t manage to speak past the panic building in his chest.  
  
“Miller was first officer on scene,” Fowler replied, expression grim. “I know.” He took Hank by the arm, guided him to one of the plastic seats, took minimal pressure on his shoulder to make him sit. “You need to let the doctors look at you, Hank. You look like shit.”  
  
“Gavin?”  
  
“He’s in surgery,” Fowler replied vaguely. “They would only tell me after I flashed my badge.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re listed as Gavin’s next of kin.”  
  
“Jesus,” the word came out like the breath was punched from him.  
  
“I take it you didn’t know.”  
  
“Fucking no.”  
  
Fowler put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I’ll keep talking with the doctors. I’ll keep an eye on Cole and Gavin, but you need to let a doctor check you.”  
  
Hank didn’t want to. He wanted to be the one to watch over Cole, but Fowler wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t tell what blood on him was his own, or what was Cole’s. It felt like a failure to agree, to allow someone else to watch over them, however brief.  
  
“Cole is going to need you at one hundred percent,” Fowler said, knowing just how to get Hank to do what needed to be done. “He’s going to be scared if he sees all this blood.”  
  
Slowly, Hank nodded. “Okay.”  
  
Fowler waved the doctor back over. “Take care of him.”  
  
::  
  
Hank was lucky, that’s what the doctor said. A mild concussion. Minor cuts. Some bruises, including a large one from the seatbelt locking him in place. “You’re a very lucky man,” the doctor said like the light of Hank’s life wasn’t fighting for his life, like a promising young man wasn’t currently under the knife to fix the internal bleeding that was trying to kill him. _Lucky._  
  
A couple of stitches, a prescription for painkillers and antibiotics, and he was on his way. Fowler was waiting for him in the hall. “Come on, there is a private room over here.”  
  
That didn’t bode well.  
  
But Hank followed.  
  
Autopilot.  
  
He sat down where Fowler led him. Felt heavier than he ever had. Everything ached. “Cole?” he asked. He couldn’t help but replay every moment after the accident. The blood sticking to skin and the bright blue of Cole’s jacket, the bone sticking up under the skin of his arm. The tremor of fear in his voice as he called out for Hank. Those last words stuck in his mind.  
  
_“Dad, no, please! Don’t leave me, I’m scared.”_  
  
Fowler rubbed his temples, then dropped his hands. “The pediatric surgeon is… indisposed of.”  
  
“What the fuck do you mean?” Hank’s voice lowered, hands clenched into fists.  
  
“He- He can’t operate, Hank. There is an android working on Cole.”  
  
“A-A fucking android?” Hank shot out of his seat. “No. No, I want a fucking human working on my son! Not some fucking science project!”  
  
“There is no one who can.” Fowler said, standing too, blocking the door from Hank.  
  
“No, no, no.” Hank ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the stitches along his scalp. “There has to be another doctor-”  
  
“Not a pediatric surgeon.”  
  
“So I have to trust some fucking android.”  
  
“They’re steadier than humans,” Fowler said. “Cole is in good hands. Hank, sit down.”  
  
“He’s my little boy-”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I can’t- I can’t lose my son.”  
  
“Come on, sit down. Have you called Marlene?”  
  
Hank sat down heavily, even the thought of having to tell his ex-wife left him breathless. He shook his head. “I don’t even know if her number is active. She’s moved again since her last card to Cole.”  
  
“Do you want me to look into it?”  
  
Hank didn’t want to deal with Marlene, but she had to know. He nodded.  
  
“Okay. Stay here. I’ll get someone to find Marlene, and I’ll check on Gavin.”  
  
Hank nodded again. And the second Fowler was out the door, he had his face in his hands as he choked down a sob.  
  
::  
  
Hank couldn’t tell how long it was before Fowler returned. Time had felt slower. Everything felt surreal. Fowler passed him a coffee. He drank it. He wanted to be awake. Alert. Cole needed him. Gavin needed him.  
  
“Gavin is still in surgery. They can’t tell me much yet.”  
  
Hank nodded. “Marlee?”  
  
“Found an address,” Fowler replied. “I sent Ben.”  
  
“Okay.” Hank held onto the coffee, staring at the picture on the wall. A nice landscape. Pretty sunset- he looked away, glared at the floor.  
  
They waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
Ben escorted Marlene in. She was a mess; red rimmed eyes, skin blotchy from all the crying, her hair pulled up into a messy bun. “Hank.” For all the inattentiveness, Marlene wasn’t a heartless monster. And god, he’d loved her something fierce back in the day. He barely noticed Fowler and Ben leaving the room. He just stood and enveloped Marlene’s tiny form, she shook with the force of her sobs, her fingers tightened and twisted in the back of his shirt. “Our boy.”  
  
It cut through his heart like a knife. “He’s in surgery.”  
  
“They told me. Oh, God. I- I didn’t send him a birthday card. It’s… I kept forgetting, it’s… it has a stamp, I bought the stamp, and it’s by the door so I wouldn’t forget, I was going to send it. I swear I was going to send it.” If she trembled any harder, she would surely fall apart. “I’m going to be a better mom. I swear, I’m going to be better. I’ll remember. And I’ll visit. I swear I’ll visit. I’ll take him to the park, and out for ice cream, and I’ll help him with his homework. Just not math, I’m bad at math, but I can help him with the other stuff. I love him, Hank, I do, I swear-” He couldn’t understand her past that. She kept making promises, he figured, words to somehow atone for years of neglect.  
  
“He’s going to be okay,” he told her. He had to say it. He had to believe it. Anything less would destroy him.  
  
::  
  
It’s a human that delivered the news. The words all made sense separately. Together, Hank couldn’t deal with it. Because the doctor had to be wrong. His son couldn’t be gone. Marlene dropped to her knees, her latest fling had come around, held her in his arms, and it was all so far from being something Hank even really realized. He was still trying to make sense of the words.  
  
“I want to see him. I want to see my son.”  
  
“I can’t let you right now,” the doctor said, that placating bedside manner trained into him.  
  
“Why aren’t you helping him?”  
  
“Hank,” Fowler stood in front of him, hands on his shoulders, a grounding presence.  
  
“I want my son.”  
  
“Hank-”  
  
“They have to fix him.”  
  
Fowler’s eyes were watering. “He’s gone, Hank. There is nothing they can do. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Somehow, the words coming from one of his closest friends was how it hit home. His son wasn’t going to be getting better. His son wasn’t going to be coming home. His son was dead.  
  
Cole was dead.    
  
::  
  
Gavin had been in and out of consciousness for days, and when he was finally lucid enough, Tina Chen broke the news to him. She’d been the unlucky one sitting in with him when he woke and could finally string together the words to ask about Hank and Cole.  
  
“Hank is- he was a little banged up but he walked away from it,” Tina said.  
  
“Cole,” Gavin demanded, his throat raw, every part of his body aching despite the painkillers in the IV.  
  
She wasn’t able to say it, but she didn’t need to. Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “I know how much he meant to you-” He couldn’t recall much after. His heart-rate so erratic that Tina had been kicked out while a swarm of doctors came in. They’d doped him up pretty good after that.  
  
The next time he woke up, Tina was still there, her hair a little greasy, dark shadows under her eyes, knee jumping with all the caffeine in her system. She was holding his hand, and holding her coffee like a lifeline in the other.  
  
It hit him right away.  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
He tightened his hand around Tina’s fingers. She blinked, really looked at him. “Hey,” her voice was soft, eyes exhausted.  
  
“How long have I been out for?”  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
“You were brought in four days ago,” she said. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past two days.”  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
“You’ve been here the whole time?”  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
“Most of it. Chris made me go home a couple days ago, forced me to sleep. He promised to stay with you,” she said. “I gave him your key, told him to feed your cat. Hope you don’t mind.”  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
He swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
He reached up IV in the back of his hand, touched his face, the stitches are extensive. He’s alive.  
  
_Cole is dead._  
  
He choked on the thought alone. Held his breath like he could suffocate the grief.  
  
“Gav?”  
  
He tried to breathe, but ended up nearly hyperventilating instead. He forced himself to sit further upright, trying to catch his breath, but there were stitches, and gauze from surgery. He hadn’t even asked yet what happened to himself, hadn’t thought to, and given the perspective it didn’t matter. He was still alive, and Cole was dead.  
  
Tina’s arms came around him, her hand supporting his back as much as she could. He leaned into her. Tears burned the cuts on his face. The IV and stitches made moving difficult, and breathing was still painful. Each sob sent pain through the stitches on his chest. He cried on her shoulder.  They’d been friends long enough that she wouldn’t judge him for it, she just held him in her gentle arms, never holding him too tight, and yet somehow holding him together.  
  
::  
  
Gavin signed out of the hospital against his doctor’s wishes. Tina had informed him that Cole’s funeral would be the following day, and he had done his best not to miss events in Cole’s life, he certainly wasn’t going to miss his chance to say goodbye. An android stood behind the wheelchair he had to sit in until he left (bullshit hospital policy) and it made his skin crawl. One of these androids had had their hands inside of Cole’s little chest until his heart stopped beating.  
  
He spotted Fowler through the massive windows, he carried a square glass vase full or rocks, with three little bamboo shoots coming out of it, as well as a white grocery bag in hand. Like any good cop, Fowler took a look around the moment he walked in. With a puzzled expression when his eyes locked with Gavin’s, he made his way over. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”  
  
“I’m going home.” He didn’t say he signed out early, doubted Fowler would be impressed by the move.  
  
“Do you need a ride?”  
  
“Nah, Tina’s gone to pull up her car.”  
  
Fowler nodded, then held out the little vase, a tiny ‘get well soon’ card stuck in it. “My wife picked it.”  
  
“There is a good chance my cat eats it.”  
  
His boss shrugged, obviously it didn’t matter much to him either way what happened to the plant. “There is something else.” Fowler glanced down at the bag in his hand. “It was in evidence, but since it’s been ruled an accident…” He held out the bag, and Gavin heard the little pieces rattling inside.  
  
He swallowed hard, and looked inside. Clear packages with LEGOS inside, along with the instructions and the card Cole had made him.  
  
“The box had too much blood on it,” Fowler said, as a way of explaining.  
  
The card had spots of blood on it too, but Fowler must have known it would be too important to throw out. Gavin looked off to the side while he tried to recompose himself. His grip on the plastic tightening. He just nodded, unable to actually thank him.  
  
“If you need anything, you know you have the DPD behind you, right?”  
  
Gavin nodded again, not able to trust his voice.  
  
“Hey Captain,” Tina said, sounding a little wary. “Everything okay?”  
  
“Do you need help getting him into your car?”  
  
Gavin hurt everywhere, but he wasn’t an invalid. He wanted to tell them, but kept his mouth shut as the android  pushed the wheelchair, following Tina, and Fowler, and he just kept quiet. Sooner he got home, the better.  
  
::  
  
In the morning, Gavin finally braved the mirror. He’d been avoiding it. From the feel alone he knew it would be bad. However, people would be seeing him at the funeral. People would stare. Hopefully, they’d know the reason why, because he wasn’t sure how he would react to someone asking.  
  
He kept his head down as he held onto the sink, knuckles white under the grip. He took a deep breath, and looked up. His hair mostly hid one set of stitches from a huge gash, although the doctors had also cut away hair at that point and when he turned his head, oh, yep, that’s a shaved spot. The gash over his nose was the deepest, but it continued along his cheek till it tapered off as a scratch. Actual stitches gave way to butterfly bandages, to just some kind of ointment. There were little cuts elsewhere, through his eyebrow, above his lip, scattered and varied in how deep they were.  
  
The skin surrounding the cuts was all dark pink. _It’s going to scar._ His temple on the right side was bruised up in spectacular shades of purple and green. Trembling fingertips barely grazed along the bridge of his nose, just under the stitches. He turned his gaze away, gripped the hem of his loose sleep shirt and pulled it off, hissing as the stitches from surgery pulled with every motion.  
  
There was a large patch of gauze over his right side. They’d had to cut him open to fix the internal bleeding. The doctors had told him it was now safe to remove the gauze, but to not soak the stitches. He picked at the tape, clinging to his skin, pulled back the gauze, stared at the long cut that had been sewn up so neatly.  
  
A knock at the door. “You okay?” Tina asked. She’d stayed overnight, slept on the couch. Her phone had multiple alarms set for when he was supposed to take his prescribed medications.  
  
“Yeah, going to take a shower.”  
  
“Okay, be quick.” She was worried, and looking in the mirror, he didn’t blame her.  
  
He started the water, he hadn’t had a proper shower since before the accident. It was warm, humanizing in a way the care at the hospital had made his skin crawl. With his back to the nozzle, he let the warm water beat down between his shoulder blades. Usually, he would take the time to enjoy it. Now he just went through the motions. Suds ran over the cut, but he was careful not to scrub at the tender areas.  
  
By the time he rinsed, got dry, and patted down all the stitches to ensure no moisture- doctor’s orders- Tina had already pulled out what could pass as funeral attire from his closet. He didn’t have a proper suit, but he supposed the black slacks, grey-blue collared button up, belt and the black tie would do. He was thankful she hadn’t dragged out a vest or something considering the ache of his stitches.  
  
She was somehow already in a tea-length black dress, and stockings. “I had Chris bring it over,” she said at his stare. “Yell if you need help.” She left his room, shutting the door behind herself.    
  
He focused on the pain, on the task of getting dressed. Putting his socks on was the worst of it, pulling the stitches painfully. Everything else was easy in comparison. Adjusting his tie, his eyes landed on the bag on his dresser.  
  
Soon, the baggies of LEGO pieces were on his bed. The little Chewbacca figurine in a baggie all of it’s own. He tore open the packaging, and held it in his hand. He and Cole were supposed to build the Millennium Falcon together. They were supposed to have time. Tears slipped from his eyes, and he quickly tried to rub them away, remembering too late about the stitches, and the pain flared through his face. He cursed, breathed deeply trying to calm down.  
  
“You okay, Gav?” Tina asked on the other side of the door.  
  
_No. No he was not._  
  
“Just a minute,” he said, fingers closing around the little figure.  
  
::  
  
The funeral home overwhelmed him the moment he walked in. There were flowers everywhere, red roses, big white lilies in full bloom, daintier flowers Gavin didn’t know the name of. The sea of people, groups standing in little circles, couples consoling one another, a woman crying while fighting with a box of tissues, a couple of little kids- maybe friends from Cole’s class were in attendance with their parents, still too young to really understand the gravity of what was happening.  
  
A couple of people looked at him. Stared. He couldn’t find a spark enough to glare back, there was no heat, no anger. His grief a cloud of depression so heavy he could barely stay upright. Tina’s had her hand on his elbow, and he wasn’t sure who was guiding who, but he was so fucking thankful that she was there.  
  
They signed the guest book- something Gavin had never understood. When would Hank, or his ex-wife ever look through it to see who attended their son’s funeral. Tina tugged on his arm, and the two of them stood in front of a large cork board, pictures of Cole throughout his short life.  
  
Cole as an infant in the arms of his mother, Hank’s arm over his then wife, both of them smiling- a little exhausted but so obviously happy.  
  
Cole standing on his own, eyes squeezed shut, smiling widely- two missing front teeth.  
  
Cole in his t-ball uniform, up on Gavin’s shoulders.  
  
Cole on his first day of kindergarten.  
  
Cole dressed up as a police officer for Halloween.  
  
Cole and Hank fishing.  
  
Cole with Fowler, Hank’s uniform hat on Cole’s little head.  
  
Cole, Hank, and Gavin all crammed in one frame.  
  
Cole on Christmas morning.  
  
Cole and Gavin both sitting upright, but asleep on the couch, Cole leaning into Gavin’s arm.  
  
Cole on the slide at his favourite park.  
  
Cole and Hank at the beach.  
  
Cole on his last birthday, in front of his chocolate cake with the big number 6 candle.  
  
_Oh God, he wouldn’t be having any more birthdays._  
  
The breath shuddered out of him. Without a word, Tina seemed to understand. Her hand slid down his forearm, and linked with his. He squeezed her hand hard, probably too hard, but she didn’t make a sound, didn’t shake him off. She squeezed back.  
  
The receiving line wasn’t as long, and Tina looked up at him. “Are you ready?”  
  
“As I’ll ever be.”  
  
He finally turned, and looked where he’d been avoiding. The dark oak casket was open at the front of the room. He’d thought it would be closed. He’d been prepared for it to be closed. He could taste blood in his mouth. He remembered looking at the mirror, seeing Cole in the reflection, limp and unresponsive. He’d tried to turn, to see, to ask Hank, but he’d lost consciousness.  
  
He stared at the casket, like if he just looked long enough it wouldn’t have such an overwhelming impact on him. He could see Cole, just a little, inside that fucking box. The casket was small. Too small. There shouldn’t be caskets that small. There shouldn’t be _bodies_ that little. The wrongness of it was crippling. He looked away, he had to, there was no way he’d make it to the front if he didn’t.  
  
There were four people at the front, two of which Gavin didn’t know, Marlene who he only recognized from a single picture in Cole’s room, and Hank. There was a yellowing bruise on Hank’s forehead, a grimness in the lines of his face, and he seemed to have aged ten years since Gavin had last seen him. Hank nodded to one of the well wishers, shook the hand of the next- going through the motions.  
  
Two of the people were Hank’s parents, he discovered, Cole’s grandparents. They never visited, lived out of state. Flew in for the funeral like the death of their grandson was more important than any of his life events. He gave them his condolences anyway, basically parroting whatever Tina said as she went through the line first. Marlene had a fist full of tissues, wept like she’d been the one to change Cole’s diapers, check for monsters under the bed, take him to school- Tina continued, and Gavin repeated the same bullshit line that wouldn’t make one bit of a difference to the grieving parent.  
  
And then he had to face Hank.  
  
Unlike with everyone else, Hank’s stiff politeness shifted into surprise. “Jesus Christ, Gav.”  
  
Hank hadn’t visited. Gavin didn’t blame him. Hank’s son had _died._ But it was clear that Hank hadn’t been expecting the stitch-by-numbers that Gavin’s face had become.  
  
“They say chicks dig scars. Unfortunately I’m gay, so-” His humour came out flat.  
  
Hank’s hand was gentle on the back of his neck. Rather than the formal handshakes he’d been giving everyone else, he pulled Gavin in, hugged him- too tight, but Gavin didn’t complain, not while holding his breath trying not to absolutely fucking lose it, because Hank’s dead son was in a casket not five feet from them, and Gavin had never been to a funeral for someone so young, and it was _Cole_.  
  
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Hank said, a rumble next to his ear.  
  
Gavin nodded, unable to speak. All the platitudes in the world don’t make up for Cole being dead.  
  
_My condolences. My sympathies. I’m so fucking sorry for your loss. I wish it had been me._ None of it was appropriate. Nothing fit. There weren’t words that could make it better, or hurt less. “’M sorry,” he muttered out, it was the best he could do. It should have been him. They’d been out for his birthday. Cole would have been safe at home otherwise.  
  
Hank released him, gave him a nod, and Gavin had to move along. A line of people were still waiting.  
  
Tina had waited among the floral displays, and she walked up to the casket with him. They always said that the dead just looked like they were sleeping, but it was bullshit. Cole looked dead. Pale and unnaturally still. The cuts had been sealed over, jaw wired shut, blood had been replaced with chemicals, he was dressed in a dapper little suit that he would have complained about. It was so _wrong._  
  
He had his stuffed dog under his arm- Bear. It’s name was Bear. Cole wouldn’t sleep without Bear the Dog. Gavin looked up at the ceiling, blinking quickly, trying to keep the tears in check.  
  
He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers running along the warm plastic as he pulled out the miniature Chewbacca LEGO figurine. He pressed it to the inside of Cole’s palm, holding his hand for just a second. “You hold onto that for me,” he said softly, tears spilling over, burning the cut along his cheek.  
  
Glancing over at Tina, she passed him a tissue from her clutch. “Let’s sit,” she said. “They’re going to start the service soon.”  
  
::  
  
It was a month before Gavin could even return to light desk duty at work, but he was grateful. He needed an escape from his apartment, from the LEGO pieces which sat untouched on his dresser, and his cat’s indifference, and that crayon picture of a park and stick figures of him, and Cole, and Hank that was on his fridge.  
  
Of course, his first day went terribly. Everyone is still shocked about his face, which actually looked worlds better than it had. The stitches were gone, but the horrific scarring remained. He couldn’t stop looking over at Hank’s desk, at the cards left by officers, a wilting plant, pictures tacked to the cork board including a father’s day card.  
  
He powered through the short shift considering he had been advised not to partake in too much caffeine while on his meds. By the end, he wanted a nap more than anything. Instead, he was called into Fowler’s office, and took a seat across from the Captain.  
  
“It’s good to have you back, Reed.”  
  
“Good to be back.” And he meant it. Television, and reading hadn’t been sufficient distraction. He’d been alone in his apartment for the past few weeks- Tina checking in nightly- but his grief was still sharp and angry. He couldn’t go for a run, or hit a punching bag, he couldn’t physically work through anything and instead it just simmered inside, bubbling up every now and then.  
  
Fowler tapped his fingers on the desk, seeming to be debating on something or other. Reed shifted in his seat, the bruises were fading, but the incision still occasionally sent an odd pulling sensation over his skin, and he hated it. “This isn’t work related,” Fowler said finally. “Have you seen Hank lately?”  
  
“Not since the funeral.” And it hurt. He hadn’t been up and around much after the week after the funeral. The doctors weren’t kidding when they wanted him to stay hospitalized longer, and he pushed himself too much too fast to attend the funeral in the first place. Hank hadn’t come around. Hadn’t even called. Not a single text even. Gavin tried not to be bitter about it, the man had lost his son. Gavin called after two weeks, when he was able to walk around his apartment in discomfort rather than outright pain. No answer, no callback. He figured Hank needed some space and time to deal with his own grief. Figured Hank would call him when he was ready.  
  
“He’s not doing well with this.” _No shit,_ Gavin wanted to say, _he lost his son._ Fowler appeared to be struggling, and Gavin remembered that Fowler had adored that kid too. “I thought I’d bring dinner over there tonight, figured he might benefit from seeing you too.”  
  
He still had time to go home, take the painkillers he was being weaned off of, but his nap would be out of the question. He agreed anyway, heart racing, unsure he would be able to handle the little house where Cole had run around, and they’d built castles, and watched movies curled up on the couch.  
  
::  
  
The house looked the same when Gavin and Fowler arrived at Hank’s house in a taxi. There was no outward sign that something was amiss. He picked up one of the food bags, while Fowler carried the other one along with a bag with a couple cans of soda. The two of them left footprints in the snow leading up to the porch.  
  
Fowler knocked on the door. After a few minutes, and a couple more knocks, he adjusted the bags in his grip, flipped through a ring of keys, and opened the door himself. The inside smelled off; stagnant air, overcooked pizza, and alcohol. “Hank?” Fowler called out. There was no reply.  
  
There hadn’t been any footsteps in the snow, it stood to reason Hank was still be in the house. “Maybe he’s sleeping,” Gavin said, toeing his snow covered sneakers off.  
  
They made their way into the kitchen, set the food down on the table. Gavin glanced at the pile of bills, newspapers, and fliers that hadn’t been dealt with or taken to the recycling. There were a couple of empty coffee mugs in the sink, a couple of shot glasses, two empty bottles of whiskey to the side of the sink.  
  
Gavin’s father had turned to alcohol when he’d lost his job. Drank himself to sleep in front of the television for years while his mother worked three jobs in attempt to make ends meet. It made him mean, and Gavin had done his best to stay out of his father’s way, did his best to drown out the yelling of his parents with the old headphones held together with electrical tape. Felt terrible about it later when the police came in his room- he hadn’t heard most of the fight his parents had, he certainly hadn’t heard his mother falling down the stairs after his father pushed her out of the way. She died. He went to prison for involuntary manslaughter, the drink catching up with him, as did the cirrhosis of the liver, he died in prison. Gavin spent the rest of his teenage years in the foster care system. So, in short, he didn’t drink. Didn’t much care for the stuff.  
  
Gavin grabbed the bottles, and walked them over to the other cupboard, pulled it open to put in the blue bin only to find it overflowing with pop cans, and other whiskey bottles. “Jesus Christ.” He glanced over his shoulder but Fowler had left the room, probably to search the rest of the house for Hank. The amount of bottles was overwhelming. It settled as a pit of unease in his gut.  
  
He deposited the bottles, shut the cupboard, and would try to remember to take them out to the curb when they left. Down the hall, he heard low voices. Fowler had finally found Hank then. Gavin followed the sound, getting closer as he walked up the stairs, down the hall, past the bathroom, the master bedroom, and- he paused. Cole’s room. They were talking in Cole’s room.  
  
Heart racing in his chest, Gavin took another step closer. Then another. His heart seemed too constricted, painfully pumping. The room was still painted the same, there were still the brightly coloured bins that held Cole’s toys- everything from plastic dinosaurs to building blocks to race car track pieces. Of course it was the same, and yet it wasn’t, not really, it lacked the life the little boy had given it. Another step forward and he could see more. The bed made, a little messily. At six it was Cole’s job to make his bed, but he was still too small to do it very neatly. He could see a foot, and when he took another step, it took him right to the doorway. Hank was sitting on the floor, bottle in hand, a picture in the other. Fowler crouched down beside him.  
  
And what was he supposed to say? What made up for the fact that Cole was dead and gone. There were pictures on the wall, crayon doodles, photographs that Gavin couldn’t bring himself to look too closely at. There were stuffed toys on the bed- Bear the Dog missing. Cole had been buried with him.  
  
“You need to eat something,” Fowler said. “This liquid diet is no good.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Hank grumbled. “Just leave me alone.”  
  
Gavin left the room, left Fowler to deal with it. He took a deep breath in the hallway, but it didn’t help, didn’t stop his chest from feeling constricted. Downstairs he started tidying up, cracked a window in the living room and another in the kitchen. He couldn’t play therapist to Hank right now, but this he could do, this was some little way in which he could help.  
  
The living room looked a little better with the blanket folded, pillows back on the couch, the coffee table cleared and wiped down. And the kitchen looked a little better once the old take-out containers were tossed in the trash, and the dishes were done and drying in the rack.  
  
By that time, miraculously, Fowler had managed to convince Hank to come downstairs. Hank stared at Gavin, something about the expression made Gavin want to look away, but Hank broke eye contact first. They all sat down at the table, Hank picked at the food. Fowler made forced, and awkward conversation to which Hank either ignored completely or grunted at. Gavin occasionally would answer something, but he was every bit as ignored as Fowler had been.  
  
“When was the last time you actually slept?” Fowler asked Hank.  
  
Hank shrugged in return.  
  
“Is there something I can do?” Gavin asked. He had to know. God, he wanted to be able to do something useful, something to make the pain somehow lessen.  
  
Hank shifted a little, glanced over at Gavin, then right back down into the food he’d been poking at. “No.”  
  
Hank remained every bit as untalkative for the rest of the night. Fell asleep on the couch, and neither Fowler or Gavin wanted to risk waking him up. Fowler put the blanket over Hank, and cleaned up the remains of the take-out while Gavin took the trash and recycling out the the curb. They left shortly after in separate taxi’s since they lived in different parts of the city.  
  
Once home, Gavin tossed his keys on to the kitchen counter and let out a long sigh. His shoulders were in knots, he had a killer headache, the surgical scar on his stomach still bothered him- not yet entirely healed.  
  
Cleo walked over, brushed against his ankles, and he glanced at her bowls. The cat didn’t much care for him- or anyone to be fair. She’d been abandoned at the shelter at the age of nine and no one wanted a cat that old. He’d been dating a guy who worked there at the time, and he’d been so distraught about the lovely Cleopatra being put down if someone didn’t soon adopt her. Somehow, Gavin had been wrangled into it. The guy dumped him shortly after, but Cleo was alright. Distant, haughty, but she always caught any spiders or flies that tried to lurk around the apartment, so he called it fair.  
  
She’d been more affectionate since the hospital. Perhaps she understood that he’d been injured. Maybe she just really didn’t like Chris or Tina and didn’t want them to feed her.  
  
Her bowl of food was still full, but he filled her water dish with fresh water, and set down a couple of treats for her. She gave her tail a swish, hunkered down to eat her treats, and then abandoned him once more.  
  
The picture Cole had drawn was still on the fridge. It had to go. Especially after Hank’s, he couldn’t deal with it. He moved the magnets, held the paper in his hands, traced his finger over the crayon line that made up the ladder of the slide in the background. He opened a drawer that he kept his bills in and set it inside. It would be safe there for now.  
  
He went to take a piss before bed, caught his reflection in the mirror, averted his gaze back down to the sink. The scar over his nose flared with phantom pain, it had sealed up, still highly noticeable but it shouldn’t hurt anymore but he could practically feel the blood hot on his face. He splashed some water on his face, dried, and left the bathroom.  
  
The pieces of the LEGO set were still on the top of his dresser, and he nearly screamed.  
  
He couldn’t deal with the ghost of Cole.  
  
He couldn’t deal with everything Cole should have had the chance to do.  
  
The more he thought about, the further it crippled him.  
  
He opened his sock drawer, removed all the socks, then dragged his arm over the top of the dresser, depositing all of the unopened LEGO baggies into the drawer and slamming it shut. “Fuck, FUCK!”  
  
The punch was stupid. Uncalled for. But he’d always dealt with sadness by shifting it into anger. His fist dented the drywall, cut open his knuckles, left them bleeding. The pain a distraction for all of five seconds. Then an inconvenience, evidence of his rash nature and idiocy. He sat down on the floor at the foot of his bed, realizing only once he was there that he was sitting as Hank had at the foot of Cole’s bed.  
  
::  
  
Gavin wouldn’t say he was coping well with the death of Cole, but he was doing his best. He went into work and put in his five hours of desk duty since he was still healing. He did his regular errands. He took care of his cat. He watched some television, read a couple of books. He went out with Tina to the theater and watched the latest blockbuster action movie. He was trying.  
  
Every three days though he went to Hank’s. Because Hank was not coping with the death of Cole, he was wallowing. Gavin did his best to be understanding, but all he could smell was alcohol when he walked in. He figured a bottle must have been spilled to create such a stench. He called out for Hank, and as the growing usual was, he got nothing in return.  
  
He froze in the entrance to the living room. Hank was on the face down on the ground, a bottle of alochol soaking into the carpet. “Hank!” he shouted, ran over, dropped to his knees. There was a moment where he thought Hank was dead, drank too much and choked on his own vomit or something, but he was breathing, he had a pulse. “Holy shit,” Gavin whispered, breathing heavily. “Fuck you, holy fucking shit, fuck you!” He shook Hank’s prone form, but he didn’t wake. “Hank! Wake the fuck up!” A less gentle poke to the ribs had Hank groaning, blinking his eyes open.  
  
“The fuck?”  
  
“What the fuck are you doing to yourself, you asshole!” Gavin shouted, fear made him angry.  
  
“The hell you doing here?”  
  
“Apparently taking you to bed since you can’t manage that on your own,” Gavin, still healing, pulled the uncooperative drunk man up to his feet. The unsteady weight nearly made them fall over twice. He ragged Hank down the hall, somehow managed to get him up the stairs, into the master bedroom, and dumped him on the bed, rolled him into the recovery position and left.  
  
Downstairs Gavin opened the window, let the cold winter air come inside. The house across the street had their Christmas lights on. It was the beginning of December.  
  
Cole was dead, but life moved on.  
  
::  
  
It became a terrifying pattern of alcoholism that Gavin didn’t know what to do with. His three times a week became every other day- and he timed it so that Fowler took the other days, they were both concerned about Hank’s mental and physical health.  
  
Gavin walked into the house, he’d had a key from babysitting Cole, and he had no intention of standing out in the cold. “Hank? I’m here.” He didn’t go looking for Hank. He just went directly to the kitchen with all the grocery supplies to make lasagna. He wasn’t the best cook, but he could follow a recipe, and this was one of his favourites, easy to package off, freeze and then take out after long shifts when he didn’t have the energy or give-a-shit to cook. He got to work on the sauce, tried to ignore the empty bottle on the counter.  
  
Eventually, he left it to simmer. He still hadn’t heard Hank, and since he had some time to wait for the sauce, he did a quick walk through of the house, but he had a gut feeling that he knew just where Hank was.  
  
Cole’s room remained timeless, Hank sitting this time on the bed, a bottle of whiskey on the floor half gone, his large hands gently holding one of Cole’s stuffed animals.  
  
“I’m making dinner.” Gavin kept his eyes focused on Hank. To look around the room was to give way too much ammunition to his own grief, and it didn’t need a buff, thank you very much.  
  
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” Hank said, his eyes still on the stuffed bunny.  
  
“It’s lasagna.”  
  
“Why do you keep doing this?”  
  
“When was the last time you ate a vegetable? Huh? I’ll make something straight up vegetarian next time.”  
  
“Go home, Gavin.”  
  
“Go take a shower, Hank,” he said in return, turning around. “Dinner is still another hour or so away.” He walked back down the hall, down the stairs, into the kitchen and leaned heavily on the counter.  
  
::  
  
Fowler walked into the break room, and that was enough to give Gavin pause. The Captain refused to drink the coffee they had, and would literally drive to five minutes to his favourite coffee shop- spend another five minutes just trying to find a parking spot- just because it was fancy coffee or no coffee. “Captain,” Gavin gave a little nod, still confused.  
  
“I invited Hank for Christmas. Unsurprisingly, he turned me down.” By the tone of Fowler’s voice ‘turned me down’ was likely an understatement.  
  
“I usually got to Hank’s for Christmas if I’m not working,” Gavin said. He didn’t have any blood family, but Hank and Cole had always made him feel welcome.  
  
“Are you going this year?” Fowler asked. “I’m not saying you have to, I’ll go, I just don’t think he should be alone on Christmas in particular.”  
  
“You have a wife and kids, and didn’t you say you had a grandkid on the way?”  
  
Fowler smiled a little at that. “Another three months.”  
  
“Spend the time with your family then.” _And I’ll spend it with mine._  
  
::  
  
There was no outward signs that Hank celebrated Christmas, no lights on the house, no glow of the Christmas tree through the large bay window. Gavin went over in his sweatpants and a comfy sweater, it wasn’t like he needed to get dressed up for what was sure to be an absolute disaster.  
  
He hadn’t even bothered to bring a gift. Didn’t think it would be welcome. They weren’t celebrating, they were just getting through.  
  
To be polite, Gavin knocked at the front door. It was already nearing eleven am, but knowing Hank’s inconsistent sleep schedule that meant nothing. He unlocked the door with his key. He heard vomiting upstairs, echoing slightly in the tiled bathroom. His head tipped back and hit the door.  
  
He waited until the sound stopped before he made his way up the stairs. “You alive up here?” There was vomit on the hardwood of the hallway. Gavin peeked into the bathroom, Hank’s arms draped over the toilet, head still half in the bowl.  
  
“Do I look alive?”  
  
“Barely.” Gavin frowned. “I’ll get the mop.”  
  
“What the fuck are you doing, kid?”  
  
“Taking care of your drunk ass,” Gavin retorted.  
  
“Just go home.”  
  
Gavin ignored Hank, went downstairs, opened the door for the garage for the mop and bucket. It was a disgusting mess, but he mopped it up. “Shower, or at least change your clothes,” he ordered, leaving the mop and bucket just inside the bathroom against the wall, not sure if it would be the last time he needed it in one day.  
  
There were was still the sticky note Gavin had left on the mirror last time- ‘brush your fucking teeth.’ He had half a mind to write, ‘book a fucking hair cut,’ but doubted Hank would.  
  
“Go home Gavin, just go the fuck home.”  
  
“It’s Christmas,” Gavin said, crossing his arms, stubborn as ever. “So get showered, put on some clean clothes, and come down stairs. I’m going to make lunch, and you’re going to fucking eat it.”  
  
Hank eventually did come downstairs- showered and in some clean clothes too. Lunch wasn’t much, it was just some sandwiches considering how little Hank actually bothered to eat- Gavin couldn’t be bothered with something festive like a turkey or a ham. Too much effort to just be thrown away.  
  
And in the new usual fashion, Hank didn’t look at Gavin. They ate their sandwiches in silence. Gavin grabbing the bottle of whiskey quickly, slamming down a can of coke, and giving Hank a glare that might actually cut through the morose behaviour if he’d bothered to look.  
  
“Cole loved Christmas,” Hank said.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Even before his birthday, he had this wish list all written out.”  
  
“I know, he told me everything on it. Twice.”  
  
“He loved the lights, especially the coloured ones on the trees.”  
  
Gavin’s heart constricted. The only reason he even owned a little apartment sized Christmas tree was because he always made a day of it, having Cole over to help him decorate with little ornaments purchased at the dollar store. It always brought the kid so much joy. He took a deep breath, held it, swallowed down his grief.  
  
“He loved the snow, and making snow men, and little snow angels-” Hank’s voice broke off.  
  
Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his finger and thumb into his tear ducts trying to keep himself in one piece. Hank was already shattered and it wouldn’t do to have them both falling apart. “He loved you, Hank,” Gavin said, voice wavering as he fought for control. “He wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself. It’s dangerous-”  
  
“’M fine.”  
  
“You’re not,” Gavin replied. “You’re really fucking not. And you’re scaring me.”  
  
It took a few seconds to sink in, but when it did, Hank finally looked up. Stared at him, grimaced.  
  
“I’m not even sure when I walk in here what I’m going to find, if you’re going to be vomiting, or blacked-out, or a sobbing drunk mess in Cole’s room. I don’t want to watch you drink yourself into an early grave. You need help, Hank. You’re all the family I have. Please, I’m… I’m begging you here, please get some help.”  
  
Hank looked back down at the sandwich. Poked at it. Nodded.  
  
A Christmas fucking miracle.  
  
::  
  
Gavin got a call from Fowler on his day off. He’d slept through it, but listened to the voice mail when he was finally moving around. ‘Reed, call me when you get this.’ It sent a chill through his body, he half expected that Hank was hospitalized for alcohol poisoning despite promising to at least look into AA. He called Fowler’s number, and ignored Cleo who came to sit in the doorway and stare at anything but him in her typical disinterested way.  
  
“Reed, good, are you free?” Fowler said.  
  
He had some errands to run, groceries to buy, laundry to do. “Yeah,” he replied anyway.  
  
“Hank’s decided to move.”  
  
“Move?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s… packing.”  
  
“Fuck,” Gavin looked around, spotted his keys and grabbed them. “I’ll be right there.”  
  
He made it across town in less time than it really should have taken him. He parked his car on the side of the road because no one had shoveled Hank’s driveway. January had come in with a blanket of snow, and it still slowly fell as Gavin walked up to the door, his boots just barely tall enough to protect him. He knocked twice, entered anyway. “Hello!”  
  
“Upstairs,” Fowler answered loudly.  
  
Boots off, and jacket thrown over the back of the couch, Gavin took a peek into the kitchen. Two empty bottles on the counter. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath.  
  
He went up the stairs. Hank’s bedroom door was open, bed unmade, laundry basket overflowing. He approached Cole’s room trying to swallow down his apprehension. It felt like he was going into an active shooter scene, adrenaline at high, heart pounding, fight or flight activating.  
  
Inside there were boxes, but nothing was in them. Hank was holding onto one of Cole’s building blocks, rubbing his thumb over it. “I can’t stay here.”  
  
“Okay,” Fowler said. “It’s- that’s-” for once, the Captain was at a loss for words. “Whatever you need.”  
  
Hank looked up, around the room. “I can’t stay here. I can’t-”  
  
“Do you want us to pack it up for you?” Fowler asked.  
  
Hank nodded. “Keep everything.”  
  
“I will,” Fowler said. “We’ll just put it in boxes, okay?”  
  
Hank nodded again. He stood, slow, rocking a little in his stance before he found his center. He walked around Gavin without acknowledging him.  
  
“Are you up for this?” Fowler asked.  
  
“Yes,” Gavin lied.  
  
::  
  
It took them two full days to box up just Cole’s room. Hank did a lot of his own room. Gavin packed up a good portion of the kitchen after work one night. “We’re going to need to clean this place up pretty good if you’re going to sell it,” he said to Hank who was drinking coffee for a change at the table. It gave Gavin a dangerous amount of hope.  
  
Gavin wrapped up another mug in newspaper and put it in the box. Fowler’s sister was a real estate agent, who’d already found a nice little one bedroom house. Hank hadn’t even bothered to go see it, it was in his price point, and was ready for quick move-in, so he didn’t give a damn.  
  
And Gavin couldn’t wait, he hoped that it would be a step forward in the grieving process.  
  
::  
  
He was wrong.  
  
The new house didn’t change anything, but it was easier to drag a rather uncooperative Hank down the hall than it had been to get him up the stairs at the previous house. He’d been over twice during the week, and both times he’d found Hank deep in the bottle.  
  
At that point, the schedule was unspoken between Fowler and Gavin, but it was becoming difficult. Fowler, Gavin knew, had tickets to some ballet performance- his daughter a hot-shot dancer. Gavin didn’t cover for him that night. He laid in bed with his heart pounding, anxiety so bad he couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t go. And the next night, when it would have been his ‘turn’ again, he didn’t go.  
  
After those two almost entirely sleepless nights, he went. He had to see Hank. Not to see if he was okay, Gavin felt like he already knew the answer on that one- but to see if he was still alive.  
  
Gavin didn’t bother knocking. Hank never actually answered anyway. He just unlocked the front door to Hank’s new house, toed off his shoes as he always did, took a couple steps in, and froze.  
  
Hank sat at the small kitchen table. Gavin could see the back of a picture frame that he would bet his life savings on the fact that it was a photo of Cole, an almost empty bottle of whiskey, and most troubling the gun in Hank’s hand.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” His anger surged up before he could think about the fact that maybe he’d be making it worse. He stormed into the kitchen, exhaustion forgotten, heart pounding so hard he was dizzy with it.  
  
“Gav?”  
  
Unlike Hank, Gavin is sober, and his police instincts were sharpened by the fear and anger. He put his hand over Hank’s, over the gun. “Let it go.”  
  
Hank did as asked.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Gavin said, the gun in his hand, he checked the revolving chamber. One bullet. “Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
“Just go home.”  
  
“Just go… just- are you- there is a fucking bullet-you-you-were you going- _Hank_?” Thoughts jumbled, overlapped, nothing made sense, his fingers felt tingly, the gun warm in his hand. Gavin’s mind supplied him with the answer quick enough. Russian Roulette. He didn’t want to believe it though.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hank snapped. “The door was locked-”  
  
“I have a key,” Gavin said almost like a question, everything too heavy and unfocused. Hank was going to shoot himself. He wasn’t just passively killing himself with the bottle, he was going to kill himself. Gavin had been to a few suicides in his few years as a detective, having to verify if anything was suspicious. His mind had no problem supplying him with the blood splatter that Hank would leave behind in the kitchen, the crumpled body on the floor-  
  
“I didn’t give you a key.”  
  
“Fowler did.”  
  
“It’s my house,” Hank stood, steadier than Gavin would have expected by the looks of the bottle.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Gavin asked, ignoring the statement.  
  
“You can’t just come in whenever the fuck you want!”  
  
“Someone has to make sure you’re not fucking dead!”  
  
“You’re not my son!” Hank shouted in his face.  
  
“No! Your son is dead! I’m just the guy trying to make sure you don’t follow him!” Gavin ended up shoved up against the wall, and even then didn’t feel particularly threatened. Hank showing a little fight actually gave him a modicum of hope. “Do you think you’re the only one grieving? Do you think you’re the only one who misses him? I’d give anything for him to be here. We wouldn’t have been in the accident if it weren’t for me. If it weren’t for my birthday, we wouldn’t have been out. I- I can’t even fucking look in the mirror anymore because all I see are these fucking scars and I have to remember every fucking time how I got them. That I survived and Cole didn’t. And don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you can’t even fucking look at me anymore.”  
  
Hank released him, looked away.  
  
“I miss him too! But this,” Gavin held up the gun. “You can’t… you can’t do this.”  
  
“Get out, Gavin. And don’t come back.”  
  
“Hank?”  
  
“I fucking mean it. Go. Get out. Leave the fucking key and get the hell out of here.”  
  
Gavin left the key, took the gun, made it as far as the stairs on the porch before he had to sit, every part of his body tingling as adrenaline raced through his system. He felt weak, and empty, and discarded. It took him a couple of minutes before he dug his phone out of this pocket and called Fowler.  
  
“Hank. Get to Hank’s. Now.” He hung up.  
  
Gavin sat in the cold until Fowler arrived.  
  
“Is that a gun?” Fowler said approaching.  
  
“He… he had it in his hand when I came in unannounced.”  
  
“What?” Fowler, who always seemed to have the answer, appeared lost.  
  
“My key is inside. He doesn’t want to see me.” Gavin held out the gun. “I can’t do this. I can’t keep watching him killing himself either with the booze or the,” he wiggled the gun. “I can’t. I’m out. I’m done.”  
  
Fowler took the gun, checked it. “No bullets.”  
  
Gavin pulled the singular bullet out of his pocket.  
  
Fowler sat down next to Gavin, which was really more like a controlled fall. Gavin didn’t mention it and they both sat in silence for a long few minutes as the cold wind whipped around them.  
  
“Take tomorrow off,” Fowler said.  
  
Gavin nodded.  
  
“Get some sleep for once.”  
  
Gavin let out a humourless laugh. “Sure, boss.”  
  
“I’ll… handle this.”  
  
Gavin stood, looked at the door, and turned his back on it.  
  
::  
  
It was another two months before Hank showed up to work again. His clothes still smelled like cheap booze. Gavin didn’t speak to him. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t so much go for a coffee if Hank was anywhere near the break room.  
  
By summer Gavin was furious. Hank, a barely functioning alcoholic. Fowler accepting it. Everything that made up the Hank he’d known seemed lost to the grief, and wave of depression. Gavin was too pissed to dismiss it any more, and he finally came to the understanding that he hadn’t just lost Cole in the accident. He’d lost Hank too. When Hank bumped into him in the hall, he sneered; “Drink a little less and you won’t stumble so much.”  
  
Near the year mark someone mentioned to Gavin his birthday, Chris Miller had to physically restrain him. He spent the entire week with Tina, not a celebration. A distraction. Movies, and her dragging him across town to weird events she’d found on the Internet.  
  
It was on the day of the accident he decided to go home, insisted he’d be fine. He built the Millennium Falcon on his own in his living room. The picture Cole drew framed and on the bookshelf. “What do you think?” He asked softly, as if Cole might hear him. “Pretty cool, huh? Just missing your piece.”  
  
And wasn’t that it? Cole. Cole was the very obvious missing piece. The life he brought to Hank, and the bridge between him and Gavin. Cole had made them family.  
  
::  
  
Gavin followed Connor into the break room, and the android eyed him warily.  
  
“He hasn’t touched a drink all night,” Gavin said.  
  
Connor raised a brow. “No, he hasn’t.”  
  
“Did you actually get him into a program?”  
  
“I don’t think he’d appreciate me-”  
  
“I tried. Once. A long time ago, when I thought I could… be enough.”  
  
“He hasn’t touched an alcoholic beverage in months,” Connor said quietly.  
  
“I’m glad.” Gavin nodded. “I’m glad you did what I couldn’t.”  
  
“Gavin-” Connor’s eyes shifted, and it was all the warning he got before a familiar heavy hand weighed on his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t think you weren’t enough, Gav,” Hank said. “Give us a minute, Con.” Connor nodded and left the room.  
  
 Gavin averted his gaze to the coffee maker unsure if he were embarrassed being caught talking about him with the tin can or just wasn’t sure what to do with Hank’s affection for the first time in years.  
  
“Listen. I was grieving, I couldn’t deal with the loss of Cole-” he said his name in such a way it was obvious it still caused him pain. “And it got to a point where I couldn’t keep making you watch me self-destruct. Especially… that night. I had to make you leave. I’m sorry.”  
  
Gavin actually looked at Hank, surprised to find Hank looking right at him, at his face, not somewhere over his shoulder, or over at the wall, but at his face.  
  
“I was so wrapped up in my own grief, I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there for you, son.”  
  
All of Gavin’s defenses, and years of anger came crashing down. He let out a hiccuping sob escaped and he found himself pulled into that tight hug he hadn’t had in years. And for the first time in a long time, he thought things might actually be all right.  
  
More than that, this was what Cole would have wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a good portion of this over on [ Detroit: New ERA ](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm)  
> I'm hanging out under the same username. Feel free to join :)


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